Close The Door, Put Out The Light
by cryptictac
Summary: When Cuddy tries to help House after he's lost everything, she finds herself completely lost, too. HouseCuddy. Explicit het.


Cuddy knocked on House's door and waited.

She knew he was home; the light had been shining through the living room window when she parked up her car outside, and as she stood at the front door now she could hear the television playing. She couldn't hear any movement, however, but as she continued to wait she reminded herself that he could no longer make it to the door quickly like most people could.

She suppressed a small surge of guilt and glanced down at her watch. Three minutes had passed. She knocked on the door again, gingerly this time, and listened a little harder for any sign that House was approaching. Canned laughter erupted from the television, followed by an overly cheery voice announcing that they'd be right back before breaking to commercial. A door in one of the upstairs apartments slammed shut, sending a dull echo through the small, cold lobby area Cuddy was standing in. A dog barked in the distance outside just as a car rolled by. House wasn't going to answer the door, Cuddy decided; he was probably asleep in front of the TV.

Tightening her thick coat around her to shield herself from the icy cold November night, she turned to head back out to her car and determinedly dismissed House from her mind by running a mental checklist of things she needed to do when she got home: phone her mom, make dinner, outline the items that needed to be addressed at tomorrow's board meeting, maybe run a hot bath to try and soak away all the tension in her body. She opened the lobby door and a small gust of icy wind curled around her, so frosty it felt as though it was cutting right through all the layers she had on. Just as she was about to step outside, she heard House's doorknob rattle and turn.

She looked over her shoulder and drew in a quiet breath of surprise. House stood in the doorway, lurking like a tall shadow. It hadn't even occurred to Cuddy the way House might look. She wasn't sure what she expected to see, but she certainly didn't expect to be greeted with the sight of him so thin and frail. Perhaps it was just the dim lighting in the lobby, but his face appeared sallow and his expression tired and withdrawn. His clothes hung off him - he wore dark blue sweatpants and under his tattered white t-shirt, his shoulders were all sharp, bony angles, tight and tense. Cuddy didn't have to ask to know just how much pain he was in because she could see it in every crevice of his body, and it nearly broke her heart.

She opened her mouth but discovered she had no idea what to say. Before knocking on his door, she'd spent a few minutes in the car, rehearsing a few different lines to say to House: things to talk about or an explanation for why she was here. But now she was drawing a blank. House stared back at her without a word and as the silence stretched between them, Cuddy felt more and more uncomfortable and unwelcome. Another icy gust of wind pushed through the open lobby door, causing her hair to blow across her face. She lifted a hand and nervously brushed it away.

"Cuddy," House finally said. His voice was flat and emotionless.

She turned a little more towards him with her shoulders squared, determined not to reveal any further nervousness. "House," she replied softly.

He darted his eyes around the lobby as though he hadn't seen it in a while, and Cuddy wondered for a brief moment how long it had been since he'd actually left his apartment. She stiffened again when he returned his gaze to her. Of course he was going to tell her to get lost, she thought to herself. Of course he wouldn't want to see her, much less talk to her; he would have said something to her now, otherwise. She was an idiot to even think that coming here was a good idea.

A sheepish smile began to edge up on the corners of her mouth. She was about to wave her hand and give a poor excuse that she just wanted to see if he was okay, that she was sorry for disturbing him and she'd be on her way now. He looked away and dropped his head low just as she opened her mouth to speak, then he suddenly disappeared back inside. Cuddy tensed up instantly, bracing herself for the sound of the door to slam shut. The door lingered open, however, and it took her a few moments to realise that maybe he'd left the door open for her.

She wasn't sure, though. Maybe he _hadn't_ left the door open for her. Maybe... She wrung her hands together, staring at the door. Cuddy was almost always a confident woman but nobody knew how to shatter her resolve like House did. She never really knew where she stood with him; where the boundaries were or the intention of his motives. Every action that he made could have any number of different meanings, and it was always as though House was constantly testing the way people interpreted what his actions meant. What would it mean if she chose to walk through the door? What would it mean if she chose to leave? What would House surmise from her choice - would he think she was pathetic for giving in to her curiosity? Or would he hate her even more than she was sure he already did no matter _what_ choice she made?

Cuddy threw her hands up at herself and sighed in frustration. She'd come here for a reason and she'd be damned if she was going to let House make her feel tied up in knots for caring about him. Heaving another, more controlled sigh, she squared her shoulders again and approached the door.

She peeked in. Even though the living room light was on, the room seemed dark. She craned her neck a little further, still uncertain whether she was actually welcome or intruding, and spotted House sitting on the couch. The television was still on but he didn't appear to be watching it. His shoulders were hunched and his head hung low. Cuddy very quietly slipped inside and just as quietly closed the door behind her.

She set her handbag down on the floor and, after hesitating for a moment, shrugged out of her coat. Unsure where to put it because she couldn't see anywhere to hang it, she folded it and placed it on top of her handbag, then faced back towards House. It was the first time she'd ever been in his apartment. She took a moment to observe the masculine furniture and eclectic ornaments that cluttered the room. Books were stacked messily on and around the piano, along with sheets of music, empty coffee cups and a few empty bottles of painkillers. Cuddy noticed the last detail with a twist of guilt and sadness.

She turned her head the other way and found herself looking towards a small hallway, lined by more bookshelves. The apartment was just as messy and cluttered in that direction, too. Cuddy became increasingly aware of an absence in House's apartment: a shelf on one of the bookcases that was bare, save for a few books lying haphazard and forgotten; one of the coffee cups on the piano had Stacy's name painted across it in swirly writing; a single photograph of Stacy smiling warmly stood on the mantelpiece in a wooden frame, and Cuddy wondered if House had taken that photo. She knew Stacy had left a little over four months ago, and the little mementos of her made Cuddy recognise that it wasn't just physical pain House was suffering all alone in his apartment. That made her feel even sadder.

She abruptly turned back to House when she heard him grunt, either in pain or to get her attention. Wringing her hands together again, she slowly rounded the couch until she was standing by him. She waited for him to acknowledge her in some way, then decided maybe the fact that he'd left his front door open for her had been acknowledgement enough.

"How are you doing?" she asked.

House gave a quiet snort but still didn't look up at her.

Cuddy pressed her lips together when he gave no further response. Realising she was wringing her hands together a little more anxiously, she forced herself to drop her hands away and smoothed them down her skirt. "I haven't seen you in a long while," she began explaining. "I wanted to see how you were going."

"Hope I'm living up to your exciting expectations," House said.

Cuddy faltered. She wasn't sure if he was just being typically cynical or if he was taking a personal stab at her.

"I didn't come here to be entertained," she retorted lightly.

House just snorted again, and Cuddy crossed her arms across her middle protectively. She felt useless. And stupid. And self conscious. She was fully aware of her involvement in how House's infarction was managed and while she wasn't sorry that she'd done what she had in order to keep him alive, she knew he didn't see it that way.

Her explanation had been true, though – she had wanted to see how he was doing, how he was coping. She'd heard some things from Wilson; she knew he'd been spending a lot of time at House's apartment, though Wilson never explained what he did while in House's company and never gave more than a vague summary of House's condition whenever she asked. Though she wasn't all that close to House, she did care about him and she worried about his well-being.

A loud sound from the television pulled Cuddy out of her thoughts. She looked over her shoulder at it and for a moment got lost in the sitcom to stall for time while she tried to think of something to say. The show broke to commercial a few minutes later and she glanced back at House. She was a little startled to see he was staring fixedly up at her.

"So, you've just come here to watch TV, then," House remarked, his tone even more sarcastic.

Aware that she probably looked self conscious with her arms crossed, she dropped her hands to her hips instead to assume what she hoped was a more assertive pose. "I told you why I'm here."

"You could've called if you really wanted to know how I was."

"I did. Several times. You never answer."

"I've been busy."

Cuddy ignored the bitter irony in his tone. "You never return my emails, either."

"That's because you never include any attachments of naked photographs of you."

She ignored his taunt, too. "If you object to me being here, why'd you let me in?"

House seemed to instantly become withdrawn again, though Cuddy had no idea why; she watched him, puzzled over what she possibly could have said to upset him as he returned his attention to the sitcom.

"Didn't say I objected," House finally said, dismissive.

Cuddy blinked. She knew she hadn't misheard him but his statement left her at a loss for what it meant. It could have meant anything – maybe he didn't object to her being here, but he objected to her staying. Or maybe it meant he didn't object to her staying, either. Or maybe it didn't mean anything. She rubbed her hand across her forehead fretfully. Agonising over the meaning behind everything House said and did made her tired and anxious.

"I won't stay," she offered, because she was pretty sure that was what House wanted to be reassured of. "I just wanted to see how you were doing. I can see my own way out."

"Didn't say I wanted you to leave, either," House said as she began making her way around the couch.

She stopped in her tracks. This time, she was sure she misheard him. She looked down at House incredulously. He was still focused on the TV show, though as the programme broke to commercial again he glanced up at her.

"Stay," he insisted.

_Why?_, Cuddy immediately wanted to ask. Instead, she watched House shifting awkwardly across the couch. He took a few deep breaths as though trying to breathe through pain, then shoved off a few clothes and an empty chip packet onto the floor and patted the spot next to him.

Cuddy wrung her hands together again. This didn't make sense. When she arrived at his apartment, she'd expected him to be abrasive and unwelcoming towards her. She'd been the brunt of his bitterness before, about his pain and about his lack of mobility. She was certain House probably placed partial blame on her for the fact that Stacy had left, too. And now he was offering her a place to sit, right next to him, like he wanted her company for a while. She didn't know how to handle this turn of events.

She slowly approached the couch, feeling like she was in a lion's den. She was no stranger to House's unpredictable nature; she knew taking up his offer could mean that he could change his mind at any moment and turn on her. Smoothing her skirt down the back of her thighs, she perched on the edge of the seat, tense and nervous.

For the next few minutes, she blankly watched the sitcom, no idea what was going on or who was who or what the audience found so funny about it. She was glad for its distraction, however, because she honestly couldn't think of a single thing to say. Her mind raced with all the possible reasons why House would want to be in her company. She was so caught up in her anxious thoughts that she jumped when House suddenly shifted beside her.

Cuddy looked across at him, startled. His elbow was propped up on the armrest, his head resting on his hand. His other hand was on his thigh and Cuddy noticed he was rubbing it slightly. He didn't seem to be aware she was watching him, so she took the opportunity to observe him closer. The glare from the television played over his face, highlighting the wrinkles brought upon by stress and pain over the past year; wrinkles Cuddy was positive House didn't have a year ago. She wondered how much pain he was in right now. She frowned in concern.

"Do you want me to get you anything?" she asked.

House looked across at her.

"A drink?" she continued. "A coffee? Something to eat?"

"I didn't ask you to stay so you could look after me," he said sharply.

"I'm just asking," she insisted. Deciding to justify even asking in the first place, she explained, "_I_ wouldn't mind a coffee."

She tried not to squirm under the scrutiny of House's intense gaze until he looked back to the TV. "Black. Two sugars," he replied.

Cuddy inwardly sighed with relief. "Black, two sugars, coming up," she said, pushing herself up from the couch.

She resumed wringing her hands together as she headed into the kitchen. She flipped the light on and moved straight across to the kettle when she spotted it. As she filled it with water, she noticed the dish rack was stacked neatly with washed plates and cutlery. She set the kettle on to boil once she returned it to its spot and walked across to the fridge.

She opened the door and was surprised to see it fully stocked. Fruit, vegetables, a couple of different types of juices, condiments. On the second bottom shelf were two crock pots. Cuddy peeked inside both: some kind of vegetable and meat stew in one, and soup in the other. She knew there was no way House would have gone shopping or made these meals on his own, and the only person that regularly paid House a visit was Wilson. Wilson seemed the type to be thoughtful and generous enough to buy House groceries and make him food. And probably domestic duties, she thought, glancing over her shoulder at the washed dishes in the dish rack.

Pulling the milk out, she headed back to the kettle and set the milk down, and started hunting through the cupboards for coffee cups. Cuddy was glad to know House had someone like Wilson looking after him because his cupboards were a far cry from the healthy state of his fridge – they were as bare as Old Mother Hubbard's. She finally found two cups and made the coffees, though decided at the last minute to fix something to eat.

She hadn't seen any dirty bowls lying around to suggest that House had eaten recently and it was getting close to 8PM. Even if he already had eaten, she reasoned as she pulled the crock pot of soup out, the food wouldn't go to waste because she hadn't eaten yet. Her day had been hectic to the point where she'd barely found time to grab a bite to eat - she hadn't eaten since lunchtime and thinking about food now made her realise she was hungry. Setting out a couple of bowls from the dish rack, she dished out soup, heating one of the bowls in the microwave while she set about toasting some bread. She heated the other bowl while she buttered the toast, and carried everything out into the living room in a couple of trips; first the coffee, then the food.

"You sure know how to make yourself at home," House remarked dryly, though he looked a little surprised, if not cautious as Cuddy set a bowl and a plate of toast down on the coffee table in front of him.

"I was hungry," Cuddy replied, taking a seat beside him while clutching the other bowl of soup. "I figured if I made you some, too, there'd be less chance of you complaining about either not being fed or me stealing your food."

"Wow. Generous."

"More like a preemptive move on my part."

"You really shouldn't have," House said mock thankfully. He leaned forward for his bowl. "But just so you know, I hate soup."

Cuddy just shook her head. Even being preemptive, she should have known House would find any excuse to complain. She spooned up some soup. "I'll put in a complaint to the chef just for you."

"Wilson knows I hate soup, too."

"You can't hate it _that_ much if there's an entire crock pot full of it in your fridge."

"Emphasis on the word 'full'. Meaning untouched."

Already, Cuddy was beginning to feel sympathy for Wilson. Dealing with House normally was always difficult, but dealing with a House that was in chronic pain, frustrated and grieving over the loss of Stacy had to be a nightmare. Still, House had been the one to insist she stay and she really didn't mind House's company beneath all the things about him that drove her nuts.

Cuddy watched House out of the corner of her eyes. Despite his whining, House had begun to tuck into the soup. Or more accurately, devouring it. He was scooping up spoonfuls with all the eagerness of a man dying of starvation, occasionally stopping to rip his toast in half and dipping it into his meal. Maybe that was why he'd lost weight, she thought to herself while she ate her soup at a much steadier and slower pace. Maybe he wasn't eating that well, regardless how much Wilson was trying his hardest to look after him.

She was barely halfway through her soup when House set his empty bowl down onto the coffee table. "So much for hating soup," she observed.

"I was hungry."

"I figured." She wiped a bit of soup away from the corner of her mouth with her thumb. "Do you want some more? I don't mind heating you up another bowl."

At first, she thought he was going to say no. She raised her brows as he sat forward to grab up his bowl and thrust it at her. "More bread, too."

Cuddy placed her own bowl onto the table to take the one House was holding. She then stood. "When was the last time you ate?" she couldn't help asking.

House shrugged as he stared at the television. "Don't know."

She frowned. "You don't know?"

"This morning. Maybe last night." House waved his hand dismissively. "Don't remember."

Cuddy's frown deepened. What he was saying concerned her. "You have to eat, House."

He shot her a sharp look. "I _do_ eat. Just only when I feel like it."

"Doesn't sound like you feel like it often."

"Yeah. It's called chronic pain," he snapped. "Tends to interfere with my appetite, along with everything else in my life. Try living on a strict diet of Vicodin on top of that, which makes you constipated to the point of being unable to crap for almost a week – that tends to kill your appetite, too."

Cuddy stiffened. She hadn't meant to upset him. The stubborn side of her wanted to snap back at him but the small insight he'd given into how much the infarction had changed his life caused her to feel a stab of guilt. And, again, sadness. She decided not to say anything; she walked back to the kitchen to heat up another bowl of soup and to make more toast.

"Here you go," she said when she returned to the living room. She placed the bowl and toast on the coffee table and resumed her seat. House grabbed up the soup and tucked into his second serving. Cuddy waited until she was certain he was no longer uptight before she asked tentatively, "How bad is the pain now?"

The way House just carried on eating without even a glance in her direction made Cuddy think that he was ignoring her. But as he reached for his plate of toast he replied gruffly, "This is about as bearable as it gets."

He really couldn't have given a more unhelpful answer. Cuddy didn't know what House's idea of 'bearable' was, and his response gave her nothing to judge his pain against. She sighed and decided to opt for a medical approach towards her question. "On a scale of one to ten, how--"

"You're not my doctor anymore, Cuddy."

Cuddy abruptly stopped, stung by House's crisp retort. She pressed her lips into a thin line, then self consciously brushed her hair back from her face before spooning up another mouthful of soup. Except she wasn't really hungry anymore. She dropped her spoon into the bowl and placed it on the coffee table.

"I just wanted to get an idea of what level of pain you were feeling," she said defensively. "I may not be your doctor now, but that doesn't mean I don't want to follow up on how you're dealing with everything."

"Dealing?" House glared across at her, then gestured angrily down at his leg. "You call _this_ dealing?"

She immediately regretted even bringing the subject up. Getting House upset was not what she wanted or intended. "House," she began.

"You call living in constant pain 'dealing'? Being unable to walk, being unable to sleep, even being unable to wipe my own ass without needing someone to help me? You call all of that _dealing_?"

"No, of course not," she replied in a small voice.

House didn't seem to hear her. "And now Stacy's gone..."

She didn't want to say anything further, though, in case she said the wrong thing. She was an idiot for even venturing towards the issue in the first place, let alone coming here. She really didn't know what she thought she would achieve. She clasped her hands on her lap, almost fearful to move in case she did or said anything else to upset him, despite how much a part of her wanted to reach out to House to offer him some kind of comfort. It would be the least she could do after everything that had happened.

"Fuck," she heard House quietly exclaim, then she almost jumped out of her skin when his plate sailed towards the coffee table and collided with his coffee cup. The plate crashed against the surface, the cup skidded and toppled over the edge, sending a deluge of hot coffee across his rug, and the toast flew in another direction and landed buttered side down on the floor. The plate rattled and swivelled about in a circle on the table until coming to an eventual stop.

Cuddy didn't know what had happened at first. She stared at the coffee table, bewildered. Once she recovered from the fright she'd gotten, she realised House had thrown the plate in anger. A moment later, she kicked into autopilot and got up from the couch to tend to the mess. She picked the toast up and dropped it on the plate, and set the coffee cup onto the table. Stacking all the dishes together, she carried them out to the kitchen, grabbed up a sponge and returned to the living room.

She kept her focus solely on what she was doing, mopping and soaking up as much of the spilt coffee as she could. She felt a little too afraid to address House in any way at that moment. Cuddy had seen House get angry, but never this angry, and she didn't want to further aggravate him. After a few trips to and from the kitchen to wring out the sponge, eventually all that remained of the mess was a mild stain. It wasn't perfect but it was the best she could do for now. She returned the sponge to the sink and after she washed her hands, she took a few moments to collect herself. She felt like a nervous wreck. It took her a few minutes to gather herself together again and once she felt under control, she ventured back into the living room.

The sight of House staring lifelessly at the coffee table made Cuddy's chest tighten. She stopped short of the couch, wringing her hands together while she tried to work out what to do. Leaving was probably the best option, though leaving House in the state he was in... She decided to be brave and took a seat next to House again.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

House didn't respond.

"I wish I could..." She wished she could reach out and touch him. Or make his pain go away. Or undo all the horrible things House had endured. She wished she could turn back time and make everything right for him again. But she couldn't and it frustrated her. Not even being able to offer him comfort, a simple touch, frustrated her. _All_ of this frustrated her because she felt so useless.

She sighed. "I'm sorry," she said again.

House just continued to stare at the coffee table.

Cuddy sighed again and looked away as she felt her emotions threatening to get the better of her. When she was back in check, she began to push herself up from the couch. She saw little point in staying - all she'd probably do was just anger and upset him if she did.

"Don't leave."

She startled slightly at the sound of House's voice. She looked across at him and saw he was looking right back at her. The last time he'd told her to stay, it had only eventuated into her making a mess of everything. Cuddy didn't really believe House wanted her to stay, definitely not this time. She looked away again and went to stand.

"Please."

Cuddy had never heard House say 'please' to her in all her life. For him to utter such a word, in such a vulnerable state, had to mean something significant. She didn't think House needed her, because he'd never admit he needed anyone, but if her staying really was that important to him... After a moment's deliberation, she sank back onto the couch. She'd stay, even if she wasn't sure it was the right thing to do.

"You're not my doctor anymore," House repeated, quietly and almost timidly this time.

Cuddy frowned. "I'm your friend," she replied.

House fell quiet for a moment. "I don't have many of those left," he finally said.

An ache erupted in her chest. Cuddy was a compassionate woman, and the very thought of House suffering through all of this on his own hurt. Of course, he wasn't completely on his own – he had Wilson, and he had her. But it sounded like he didn't really have anyone else. For as long as Cuddy had known House, he'd always been antisocial, but she recognised there was a huge difference between needing people in everyday life and needing people when a person was at their lowest.

"I don't have anything left," he added flatly.

"That's not true," Cuddy countered.

House nodded, his expression lifeless. "It is."

Cuddy refused to believe House had nothing left. She wanted to argue that he was still alive, that he was still breathing, still had a functioning brain, a strong heart, a reason to live. But she knew he wouldn't listen to her. It was all too easy for her to tell him all those things; she wasn't the one suffering what he was suffering.

The next few minutes that followed were close to agonising. House sat in silence and Cuddy could see he was struggling internally with something - the way he kept clenching and unclenching his fists on his legs, the tightness of his jaw, the way he was rapidly blinking. All the while, she felt caught between wishing she could _do_ something and knowing she'd be foolish to even try.

"I wish none of this had to hurt so much," he said at last, a near whisper.

"Oh, House." Cuddy couldn't stand it anymore - she couldn't just sit here and do nothing. She lifted a hand and reached for him, settling her palm gently against his cheek. He stiffened and Cuddy braced herself to have her hand smacked away or for House to explode in anger for invading his space. But after a moment, he simply closed his eyes.

She was a little taken aback by how vulnerable he looked; the lines on his face, the tension in his muscles, the mere fact that he'd allowed her to touch him at all. Nothing she could say would make any of this better or easier, so she just stroked her hand lightly down his cheek. She kept expecting House to push her away but when he didn't, she stroked her hand down his cheek again.

To her surprise, he turned his face towards her palm and pressed into it. He let out a slow, shaky sigh and just when Cuddy thought he'd pull away, he lifted his hand to hers and pressed it even closer against his cheek.

Cuddy stroked her thumb gently across his cheekbone. She didn't know what she was supposed to do, whether she was supposed to just let him guide her hand where he wanted it until he'd had enough or whether she was supposed to offer him more. She wanted more than anything to pull House into an embrace but she was sure that would be crossing a line. She decided to just let him be, and a deep surge of sadness clutched at her chest as House began nuzzling into her palm. He dragged her hand down over his cheek and his nose, his eyes squeezed shut and his breath tight and hitched.

"Don't leave," he murmured into her palm.

Cuddy felt the ache of sadness in her chest twist. She lifted her other hand and tentatively touched the other side of his face. "I'm not going anywhere," she replied. "I'll stay for as long as you want me to."

House let out another hitched sigh against her palm, and nodded. His grip tightened on her hand and he pressed a slow, grateful kiss to her hand. Followed by another, and another, until he was needily, almost passionately kissing it.

Cuddy honestly didn't think she could handle another sharp turn in the rollercoaster ride tonight was becoming. She didn't know what any of this meant, other than the fact that House was reaching out to her. And who was she to put a stop to it? She'd wanted to be able to extend some kind of help or comfort to him. Except this wasn't at all what she'd had in mind. Just for that she almost wanted to pull away before House got too carried away.

The lonely, affection-starved side of her didn't want to pull away, though. It had been a long time since a man had touched her, especially a man that she cared about. As the kisses House was giving to her hand intensified, she found herself craving to be touched, too, and she ran her other hand down his cheek to his jaw.

Suddenly, House was reaching for her, his hands cupping her face and she found herself being drawn towards him as he sat forward. For a long few seconds, he just held her, their lips almost touching. House's breath was warm against her mouth, and Cuddy closed her eyes while she stroked her hands down the sides of his face. Her heart was beating fast and her head swam with confusion. The rational side of her mind was still struggling to be heard, but only just.

"House," she began softly, and she was about to push him back. This was insane. _Beyond_ insane. In fact, it was starting to scare her. But House tilted her head to the side and closed the distance between them, and the moment House's lips touched hers, Cuddy gave up trying to resist.

The kiss was delicate at first, gentle and almost hesitant. Her breathing mingled with his, soft and nervous breaths, and Cuddy traded a few uncertain kisses back and forth with House until she started wanting more. Clutching the sides of his head in her hands, the kiss grew more insistent, House sucking on her lower lip while she ran her tongue across upper lip. He opened his mouth wider and she mimicked, and their tongues slid together in between the wet sounds of their mouths meeting hungrily. Soon, Cuddy was breathing heavy and fast and she felt close to dizzy by the time the kiss broke.

She released his head and ran her hands down the sides of his face again to his chest, opening her eyes to look at him. House stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers and he seemed unable to meet her gaze, like he was uncertain of himself or afraid or maybe even disappointed that Cuddy had pulled away. She knew she had to put a stop to this, but at the same time she wanted to take care of him. Shifting on the couch to turn more towards House, she closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his. Under her palms, his chest felt warm and firm, rising and falling rapidly from the pace of his breaths. After a few silent seconds, Cuddy lifted her chin to brush her lips over House's and he immediately responded by fitting their mouths back together into another deep kiss.

She heard House utter a soft, needy sound into her mouth, which caused the ache in her chest to twist even sharper and the heat between her legs to grow warmer. She returned the quiet sound, then slid a hand back up his cheek, moulding herself closer to him while his hand began travelling down the side of her neck and to her shoulder. Cuddy pulled back from the kiss again and reached for his hand, and she watched his face while she slowly drew it down over her chest and pressed his palm to her breast. He stared down at it with a kind of longing that made Cuddy wonder just how long it had been since he'd touched someone the way he was touching her now. Stacy was probably the last person, she thought sadly.

"I want..." House began in a murmur. He gently squeezed her breast just as Cuddy reached a hand up to his face.

She shushed him with a quiet "shh". She stroked her fingers over his stubble and over his lips, then reached down for his hand. Drawing it away from her breast, she lifted it and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles before she rose from the seat. He reached for his cane and Cuddy watched on in concern as he struggled to try and stand up. His face contorted with pain and he grunted, seemingly determined to get up from the couch on his own.

"House..." Cuddy bent over to grasp his arm and at first she thought he was going to knock her back and refuse her help. Instead, he curled his hand around her arm and allowed her to haul him up from the couch. Once she was satisfied that he was steadily on both feet, she took his hand again and began walking backwards and pulling House with her. He limped stiffly and slowly, as though it hurt every bone in his body to move. Again, Cuddy was struck by how frail he looked. The nurturing side of her wanted to wrap him up in her arms and protect him. Instead, she just kept slowly backing down the hall, unbuttoning her blouse with one hand while House kept a firm grip on her other.

By the time they reached House's bedroom, he was breathing heavily and seemed close to exhausted. Cuddy drew him into the dark room towards the bed and urged him to sit down. He set his cane aside and she released his hand to reached for his head. She was only just able to make out his features as he looked up at her. Even through the darkness, she could see how vulnerable and fragile he was. She ran her hands through his hair, traced her fingertips across the lines on his forehead, then leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to it. House was still the whole time, quiet and accepting of what she was doing. His breathing slowed and he seemed to relax a little; he seemed to be soothed by her touches.

Cuddy rested her forehead to his and ran her hand down the back of his head just as she felt his hands move up to finish unbuttoning her blouse. When he got the last button undone, he reached through the part of her shirt to her stomach. His hands felt warm and clammy against her skin and he touched Cuddy with such tenderness, it almost shocked her. She wasn't used to House being gentle or considerate. He was always so abrasive and cynical, it was hard to believe he even had a tender side. But here he was, stroking her skin delicately like he was trying to relearn what a woman's body felt like, and Cuddy couldn't help arching into the touch. She grasped his head to tilt his face up to her, and she closed her mouth over his.

The kiss was slow and searching. Her nipples tightened as House slid his hands up over her breasts and caressed them through her bra, and she hunched closer in towards him to draw him deeper into the kiss. When she pulled away, she reached down over his back and caught the material of his shirt in her fingers and tugged it up over his head. Sliding her hands over his bare shoulders, she leaned down for another kiss. He wrapped his arms around her waist and Cuddy let out a soft sound as he broke away from her lips to drop kisses down to her chest. She raked her fingers through his hair again, dropping a couple of kisses to the top of his head, then took his head in her hands again to direct his mouth across to her nipple. Through the material of her bra, he latched onto it and gently sucked, and Cuddy let her head fall back with hitched sigh of pleasure.

She was starved of this sort of affection, to the point where she almost felt needy. She wasn't a needy woman, but she was a sensual woman and the feel of House's mouth and hands on her body was like cool water on a burning beach. He moved over to her other breast and she let out another quiet sound. Suddenly, House was reaching for her again, and she leaned down and crushed her mouth to his. This kiss was hard and hungry, their tongues duelling together and soon Cuddy was shrugging off her blouse while House tugged at her skirt. Her clothes finally discarded to the floor, House's mouth was then everywhere, kissing and sucking at her stomach, her ribs, down by her hips, sending her to new dizzying heights. She fumbled with her bra clasp and shook her bra off, and gasped loudly when House scooped up her left breast in his hand and closed his mouth over her nipple.

Moving her hand to his head, she held him close while he sucked and licked, arching her back as she urged him across to her other nipple. Her whole body was tingling and on fire, a hot ache throbbing deep within her pelvis. Guiding his mouth back to hers, Cuddy leaned into him and stretched her arms out to rest her hands on the mattress, slowly encouraging House to lie down onto his back. She lifted a knee to the bed and leaned over him, probing her tongue deep into his mouth as he ran his hands over every inch of skin that he could reach.

At last, she pulled back. She caught the waistband of his sweatpants in her fingers and pulled, dragging his briefs down with them. Even in the dark, she could make out the disfiguring shape of his scar, though she drew no attention to it because she didn't like what it reminded her of. House grunted in discomfort as he shifted his hips to help her pull his pants off and once she tossed them aside, she quickly slipped her underwear off.

She began to crawl onto the bed. Maybe it was just her imagination, but he seemed suddenly insecure with his nakedness. Ashamed, even. Or perhaps uncomfortable because his leg was exposed. He lay with his hands clutched over his chest like he was trying to hide himself or perhaps trying to protect himself. Maybe from her. Cuddy sat on her haunches beside him and took one of his hands in hers. The way he'd suddenly withdrawn from her drew her attention back to just how fragile House was. Not just physically, but emotionally.

She drew his hand up to her lips and kissed across each of his knuckles delicately, then turned his hand over and pressed a kiss to his palm. Moving his hand up to the side of her face, she cradled it to her cheek and closed her eyes as House hesitantly stroked his thumb down over her lips.

"Cuddy," she heard him say.

She opened her eyes again and peered down at him. She felt his hand trace over the swell of her breast, his touch hesitant. She wanted to ask him what he wanted, if he was okay, if he was in pain, if maybe he wanted to stop. Her breath caught in her throat before she could say anything as he rubbed his thumb over her nipple.

"Come... come here," he murmured.

Cuddy found herself swallowing nervously in a kind of sympathy reaction to House's uncertainty. It's okay, she wanted to assure him. You're safe with me. She determinedly pushed aside her own nervousness and, placing her hand down beside him on the mattress, she edged forward onto all fours and crawled closer to him. Her hair fell around her face while she dropped kisses to his chest. She felt House's fingers raking through her hair, pushing it back from her face, as she traced her tongue over his nipple. She licked it and gently sucked before kissing a trail back over his chest to his other nipple, but she'd barely begun to caress it when House started to pull at her hips to urge her to climb onto him.

She swung her leg over him and settled down onto his hips. Immediately, he pushed his pelvis up slightly and Cuddy let out an unsteady breath as she rocked back against him. She braced her hands on his chest and spread her legs wider, gasping softly at the feel of his penis sliding slow and firm between her labia. For a few minutes, she did little more than just rubbed herself against him, arching her neck while he ran his hands over her thighs and hips. She tilted her hips and focused her clit right on the end of his erection, just enough to cause a slow, aching burn deep within her pelvis.

His hands were everywhere. On her breasts, her arms, her stomach, and Cuddy drank in every moment of it. She rolled her hips a little harder and lowered her head to look down at House, watching his face through the darkness. His mouth was slack and his chest rose and fell quickly with his breathing, and Cuddy realised this was the first time in as long as she could remember that she'd seen his face not be contorted in pain. Instead, it was contorted in pleasure, his expression open and exposed and vulnerable.

She felt a sudden deep feeling of affection and care for him well up in her chest. She wanted to look after him, protect him, shield him from all the hurt he was feeling. Leaning over him, she pressed her lips to his and gasped softly again as his penis slid over her clit. He wrapped his arms around her securely and Cuddy huddled in close, kissing him with her hand pressed against his cheek like she was sharing a secret with him. She felt his hands travel down her back to her ass; he gripped it and pulled her closer and Cuddy responded with another passionate roll of her hips.

"House," she panted softly against his lips, before bracing her hands on his chest to push herself up. She arched her back and slid her clit over his penis in harder, faster strokes until her whole body felt like it was on fire. She abruptly stopped; one more roll of her hips and she knew she'd tip over the edge.

House gave a frustrated groan and dug his fingers into her hips, and it took Cuddy all her willpower not to give in and start moving with him again. "Cuddy," he urged in a tight voice.

"I know," she replied breathlessly.

"Please."

"I know," she said again. She tried to clear the fog in her mind to think clearly, except she couldn't because the ache between her legs was overwhelming. Shifting forward to lift her hips up from his, she reached down and fumbled around for his penis, guiding it up towards her. She lowered herself again, pushing the head of his cock against her entrance. With a few shifts of her hips, he slid in deep and Cuddy settled down fully onto his pelvis before moving experimentally a few times. He was there, right there, deep inside her and it felt so good, and as she placed her hands on his chest again she let out a soft, "oh".

She knew she had to be careful. As aroused as House was, Cuddy knew he was still in pain and knew that if he pushed himself too hard or if she made the wrong move, he would be seriously hurt. As frustrating as it was, she moved slowly up and down his length, using her legs and her hands to take most of her weight. At first, she rested a hand behind her on House's good leg and used her other hand to stimulate her clit, rubbing in circles and up and down, sometimes reaching back a little further to feel his penis sliding in and out of her. She could feel House's eyes on her the whole time, along with his hands, and when she lowered her gaze to meet his, he reached up to her.

Cuddy went to him, lowering herself down into his arms, and she buried her face into the side of his neck while he held onto her tightly. The change in angle drove his penis straight to where she needed it most and soon she started to gasp rhythmically as she approached orgasm. She felt House's hand in her hair and heard him mutter something tender by her ear, and she clung onto him as she hit climax.

For the next few moments, she was powerless to do anything except let House keep a hold of her. Her legs ached, she felt extremely sensitive and her whole body was limp. But as she came back to earth, she cupped the side of House's face and began pressing tender kisses against his cheek while he kept moving in and out of her. Cuddy didn't know if orgasm was really feasible for him, given how much pain he was in, but she encouraged him all the same.

"Come on," she whispered.

"Yeah," he whispered back. He turned his face in towards her and she hid her face in against his, her hand still cradling his cheek, and she listened to his breathing accelerate.

"Come on," she urged him again when she could feel his body growing tenser.

"Oh," he responded helplessly. His breathing suddenly deepened and everything about him seemed to become unglued. He gripped at her, writhing and grunting quietly, and she felt his body shake and tremble beneath her. She pushed herself up a little to let him penetrate her as deep as he needed through his orgasm. She opened her eyes and watched his face, the way he stretched his neck back and the way his mouth was twisted open in an expression of overwhelming pleasure. Slowly, he relaxed, his breathing fast and erratic. He pulled at her to come back down to him.

Cuddy moulded her body to his with her face buried against his throat. She could feel his pulse beating quickly by her lips and could taste salt on his skin from sweat when she kissed that very spot. Pulling back, she turned his face towards hers and placed a few gentle kisses to his lips. He made a few soft sounds and it took Cuddy a moment to realise they were sounds of discomfort rather than pleasure. He moved a little restlessly beneath her and Cuddy tried to soothe him by stroking her hands over his face, but it only seemed to agitate him. Cuddy was hesitant to ask if he wanted any help; at the same time, help seemed to be what he needed.

"Do you want me to...?" she began uncertainly.

"No," he replied in a sharp, gruff voice.

Cuddy frowned. She'd only wanted to ask if he wanted her to get his medication. She almost snapped back at him that he should stop being such a stubborn idiot and just let her help him, especially seeing they'd just been intimate. She didn't, though. She stayed still while House continued to struggle - unnecessarily, Cuddy thought - with pain. Slowly, very slowly, he eventually began to relax - from sheer tiredness alone, it seemed. With how much pain he endured daily, it was no wonder his body was exhausted. Cuddy was certain he had to have been mentally exhausted, too, and maybe sex had been the thing to bring all of that exhaustion to a head.

As House seemed to drift off into a kind of unrestful sleep, Cuddy rested her head on his shoulder and looked up at him. She stroked her fingers through his sweaty hair. She didn't know what she was supposed to do now. In fact, questions started filling her mind. What did this mean? What _didn't_ it mean? Was she supposed to stay by his side, or was she supposed to get up and leave? She closed her eyes and tried to push all her questions aside. House shifted beneath her slightly and Cuddy took that as her cue to climb off. She moved to his side and spooned up alongside him, her hand resting on his chest and his semen wet between her legs.

It was then she realised she'd forgotten all about a condom. It hadn't even entered her mind at the time; she'd been so caught up in House. It didn't seem like the sort of thing House would easily forget, either. Maybe he'd been caught up in the moment, too. Maybe he'd been so focused on the physical that he forgot about all else. Maybe... So many maybes, Cuddy thought tiredly. Turning her head away from him, she pressed her hand to her face in a moment of panic. Then her rational mind kicked in – this, like all the other questions she had, could be dealt with tomorrow. Nothing would get solved tonight, no matter how much she worried. She wiped her hand over her face and sat up and, leaving House to sleep, she quietly slipped off the bed to head for the bathroom.

She used the toilet and cleaned herself up between her legs, then moved across to the sink to wash her hands. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she looked like a mess. Her hair was wild and tangled, her lips and cheek red from where House's bristles had grazed her, and she could see bags under her eyes from tiredness. After she dried her hands, she slapped the light off and headed through the apartment to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. She drank two glasses, rinsed the glass out and set it back onto the dish rack, and then stood naked in the middle of the kitchen as she tried to work out what to do.

She should probably leave, she thought to herself. Except she wasn't the sort of person to do things like that. She never left in the middle of the night, after a night of passion, unless it had all been a huge mistake. And she wasn't sure this was a mistake. Maybe House would see it that way later, but she didn't see it that way. She saw it as... something incredibly confusing, something she couldn't place into words right now. All she did know was that she couldn't leave, not now. Not with the fragile state House was in.

Cuddy raked her hands through her hair with a deep, weary sigh and headed back out of the kitchen to go back to the bedroom. She crawled onto the bed and spent a few moments tugging the bed covers carefully over House. Now that she'd calmed down from sexual excitement, the room felt chilly and her skin prickled with goosebumps. She climbed under the covers and fixed her pillow, then lay on her back and stared up at the ceiling, listening to the wind blowing outside and House's slow, easy breathing while he soundly slept.

After a while, she turned her head and looked across at House, then moved onto her side to spoon up to him again. He just exhaled deeply and Cuddy could see him frown slightly in his sleep. Probably even in his sleep, he felt pain. She lifted her hand to trace over his wrinkles and the lines on his face, smoothing them away with a deep sense of sadness. House made a soft sound and twitched before turning his head away from her. She dropped her hand to his chest and sighed quietly.

She lay awake for a long while, startling when House suddenly roused. He looked across at her, seemingly unseeingly at first. She stared back at him, almost holding her breath. He blinked and Cuddy could tell by the way his expression grew withdrawn that he recognised who she was.

She wanted to reach out to him, to assure him that it was okay. He had no reason to be afraid. But he started to turn away from her again and she heard him grunt in pain as he shifted around until his back was facing her. Don't shut me out, she wanted to tell him. Don't, please don't.

Instead, she just stared at his back. She didn't know whether she felt crushed or angry or sad. She rolled her head the other way on the pillow so she was staring across the room instead, and resumed listening to his breathing while she again found herself agonising over whether she should stay or leave.

Once again, House startled her. "You going to leave?" he eventually asked, his voice low and scratchy with tiredness.

Cuddy snapped her attention back to him. She swallowed, trying to suppress a stab of hurt building in her chest. "Do you want me to?" she replied quietly.

House just lay in silence for a long moment, like he was trying to work out how to answer her. "No," he said.

Cuddy sighed deeply. The hurt that had built in her chest transformed into feeling of sadness because even though he'd told her to stay, she knew he probably didn't want her to touch him. "Okay," she said in a soft voice.

She tugged the covers up over her shoulders as she moved onto her side, her back facing House's, and she stared at the wall. The wind picked up even more outside, howling through the streets and rattling against the windows. A dog barked in the distance and a car rumbled by outside. The sounds of the world around her made Cuddy feel very alone. She felt even more alone with House sleeping right beside her; even though his body warmth glowed against hers, she felt like there was a thick wall made of cold steel separating herself from him. It almost made her want to cry.

She closed her eyes. Finally, after what seemed like hours, she fell into a light, uneasy sleep.

**end.**


End file.
